


And Everything Burned

by naberiie



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Afterlife, Canon Compliant, F/M, Fate & Destiny, Force Mysticism, Mentions of other characters - Freeform, Reflections on life love and death, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Surreal, The Force, can almost be counted as another character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 11:17:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14019120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naberiie/pseuds/naberiie
Summary: An ARC trooper is killed - martyred - for crimes against the Chancellor. Six years later, a Naboo Royal Handmaiden is killed - executed - for crimes against the Emperor. They never met.But they were supposed to. They were unlucky in this universe, bitterly unlucky; in others, they were blissfully happy.So the Force gives them a second chance.





	And Everything Burned

**Author's Note:**

> “If a coin comes down heads, that means that the possibility of its coming down tails has collapsed. Until that moment the two possibilities were equal. But on another world, it does come down tails. And when that happens, the two worlds split apart.” - Philip Pullman
> 
> Oh, man. This is almost 18k of the most self-indulgent, semi-spiritual, existential, mind-bending, definitely-another-slow-burn story I have ever written. Does not take place in the Arcmaiden universe; takes place in the canon timeline. Or - I suppose - _after_ the canon timeline. A pocket of time and space between life and death; created for them by a not-quite-cruel, not-quite-kind Force. There are loads of references and Easter eggs to _From Which Stars_ , which is one of the universes referenced in this fic. I'm exceptionally proud of this one and I'm ready to talk for hours about everything that went into this one.
> 
> Enjoy ❤

✧✧✧

Doesn’t it make you melancholy—looking at the stars?

\-           _Virginia Woolf, from_ [ _Jacob’s Room_ ](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.scribd.com%2Fread%2F187113489%2FJacob-s-Room&t=OTFmNzA1NWY3ZmJkOTQ1YjAyOWYyNGQ4NDEwNTE2ZjgzY2VhNDViNSxhZDk5MjdiZDVjOGFmZmVkNDIzNWY2MGNmYTBiYjA2MzZhNzYyZjNi)

✧✧✧

Everything hurt.

Everything _burned._

The Imperial officer who read the charges, who asked once more for them to name their Fulcrum, feigned distress. His voice was sharp but wounded, as if the sight of Rabé and Eirtaé lined up against the palace walls hurt him, too.

_Like hell._

He didn’t care that the ice-cold rains of Naboo stung every wound on her body. He didn’t care that her back and arms were raw and bloodied. He didn’t see how bloodless Eirtaé’s face was, nor the remnants of a poison so horrible that she hadn’t recognized it, _Eirtaé hadn’t recognized it_ , a poison so horrible that she’d nearly bitten her tongue off to keep from screaming. Under her translucent white skin, her veins were still tinged horrible dark green. Rabé could still see well enough that she could count Eirtaé’s heartbeats by the pulsing, swollen veins on her cheeks and neck and arms.

If the firing squad didn’t kill them, the poison would take Eirtaé within the hour.

Maybe Eirtaé _had_ bitten off her tongue. She had not uttered a word since… Rabé didn’t know. She didn’t know what day it was or how long the Empire’s dogs had tried to rip that answer so they desperately sought from their heads.

Rabé knew if they thought they could have found the answers by cracking their skulls open and unspooling their brains, examining the synapses for a name, just one simple name, the Empire would have done it.

But they had not broken. And Rabé – half blind, limping, and tired _so tired_ from the torture – knew Sabé was there. In the crowds that watched, as silent as the grave. At least she assumed that mountain of dark blue – _mourning colors_ – were the crowds. The only sound was the officer’s sharp-but-wounded voice and the pouring rain.

Rabé hoped Sabé would forgive herself. Fighting the Empire for their Queen, their Padmé… neither she nor Eirtaé regretted it. But Sabé was their eldest, their Captain. And now she was alone.

A stormtrooper grabbed Rabé’s arm – not her broken one, a small blessing – and pushed her next to Eirtaé. The officer, spitting the words as if he didn’t care, because he _didn’t_ care, asked if they had any last words.

Neither she nor Eirtaé breathed a word.

The troopers lined up ten paces ahead of them. She could see them well enough – brilliant white against a black ocean of mourners. Like the crest of a wave.

Her back and arms _burned._

They raised their blasters, aimed a little above their hearts.

The rain stung, it seared her everywhere, _everywhere_.

A bright, pure line raced forward with a single, pulsing sound.

The words left her lips as she watched her death approach.

“Long live the Queen,” they whispered as the fire – the bright, brilliant death – sliced through the sheet of pouring rain. She couldn’t see the crowds behind the bright white of the stormtroopers but Rabé’s last thought was of Sabé. Sabé. Watching alone. Alone now.

_Keep fighting, Sabé. We’ll see you again._

And

everything

 _burned_.

✧✧✧

There was blood in her mouth.

That was the first thing Rabé noticed.

She lay absolutely still.

She couldn’t hear Eirtaé next to her – had the troopers missed?

No. That was where the blood had come from. A strong metallic taste that coated her tongue and teeth. She kept her eyes shut tight. She couldn’t hear – had the shots ruined her hearing-

“Oh, my _gods_ – it’s – you’re-”

Hearing worked fine. But that was not the officer’s voice.

It sounded worried, legitimately frightened.

 _What the hells was going on?_ She wet her lips and tried to speak, but first she had to turn her head and spit out the blood. It wasn’t raining anymore and had she been able, Rabé would have kicked herself for not realizing it sooner – although, she conceded, she _had_ just been marched to her death. Execution by firing squad.

… _right?_

She spat another mouthful of blood out and tried to sit up, her fingers scraping not the smooth marble of Theed’s streets but… _earth._ Earth and grass and tiny pebbles and she nearly jumped up in shock only to be met with lancing pain in her left arm that made her cry out.

There was a scrambling sound as the voice drew close. “Don’t move, you’re hurt – hells, _hells_ what did they _do_ to you-”

“Stay back,” Rabé hissed through gritted teeth. Everything hurt, still – her eyes weren’t cooperating, everything was muddled and hazy and she was supposed to be _dead._ “Stay back, please.” It came out as a quiet plea instead of the forceful command she had aimed for, but still the sound stopped at once.

“Sorry.” It was a – _no._ _No, it couldn’t be –_ was this another torturer’s play? Her mind was spinning, quickly unraveling whatever remnants of sanity the torturer had left her, she couldn’t concentrate on anything and that _couldn’t_ be a clone’s voice, it couldn’t be…

Why wasn’t she _dead?_

“I’ll stay right here. About two meters at your one.” The voice was soft, gentle, despite the rough cadence and texture. Like a ship at sea. It made her want to cry. “Can you… can you not see?”

Rabé shook her head, and the voice cursed softly. “Okay, this’ll be – what did they _do-_ ”

“Where’s Eirtaé? Where am I?” She was so tired. Tired and confused and angry, and she swung her heavy head to where the voice said they were and her voice started to shake, “Where’s Eirtaé?”

“Uh. She’s – the blonde one, right? – she’s not here. I don’t know where she is. I’m – I’m sorry.”

Eirtaé was dead, then. “Oh.”

And Rabé had been… kidnapped? No. She was a wanted – a _found_ – traitor who had outlived her use. Whoever it was, the voice seemed to be telling her the truth. She drew her knees to her chest and asked again, a hoarse, weak whisper laced with desperation and confusion, “Where am I?”

The voice didn’t answer and she was left alone with her ricocheting heartbeat and Rabé panicked, she didn’t want to be _alone, now of all times_ she _needed_ – “Please don’t leave me!”

“I didn’t! I didn’t, I’m here. I’m still here, Rabé. Promise. I’m just… trying to figure out the best way to say this.” They shuffled and Rabé thought she could hear the wheels churning in their head.

“I’m supposed to be dead,” Rabé whispered, blinking back tears of rage and pain and confusion. “I – Eirtaé and I – we were – there were stormtroopers… I’m – why am I _alive-”_

“You’re not.” For all their talk of finding the best way to say it, they were so blunt that the air squeezed out of her lungs, like she’d been punched in the gut. The voice went on quickly, “I’m so sorry, but you’re dead. And so am I. I think this is like… I don’t know _what_ it is exactly but. An afterlife of sorts, I guess. Yeah. You can’t see yourself right now, but…” They swallowed thickly and pushed on, “but you shouldn’t be able to move, let alone talk, with those injuries.”

Rabé’s hand flew to her chest and her shaking fingers found the burned hole in her flesh and she whimpered, her mouth dry and stomach churning. Her hazy eyes could pick out the bright wet red on her fingertips. There were six blast marks, at _least_. Six. _Six_ times.

 _Bastards_.

“We’re… _how?_ ”

“A Jedi could tell you better than I could, honestly. All I know is that I’m the only one here… not anymore, I guess. But. I don’t know how long I’ve been here.” The voice cleared their throat and said, “I was killed by a… by a blast bolt, too. Just, ah, just the one. I woke up right here, too.”

Rabé’s fingers were still fluttering around the burnt edges of her wounds, all in a straight line of charred, burned and bubbling flesh.

Her stomach heaved and she turned to vomit onto the earth next to her. She pressed the back of her hand to her lips and squeezed her eyes shut, her breath coming fast and painful in her ruined lungs. Her voice scraped at the back of her throat, “Then _why does it still hurt?_ ”

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I wish I could – ah, _kriff,_ I don’t know. But the injuries – they’ll fade. Mine did. It only takes a few minutes.”

Rabé kept her eyes shut tight but her chest heaved with panic and confusion. “Will you – I don’t understand… I don’t… I don’t want it to hurt anymore…”

The voice shifted again, like they wanted to come comfort her but she was blind and in pain and a caged cornered confused wild animal, and they stayed their distance.

She almost wished they’d move in closer.

She wanted Eirtaé. She wanted someone else’s warmth close to her.

She wanted to know that it would be okay.

“I wish I could make it stop hurting,” the voice said, their voice low and pained. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. But it will, I promise. It’ll stop, in a bit.”

Rabé tried to take a deep breath and nodded, and then, after a moment, she tried opening her eyes again.

Her sight was getting better. The colors were coming back. She blinked and squinted at her one and – yes, there, sure enough, a figure roughly two meters away, dressed in deep grays and blues. They caught her focused gaze and raised a hand in an awkward wave. “Can you see a little better?”

She nodded.

“That’s good. And it looks like your injuries are fading, too. They’re receding.”

Rabé swallowed and whispered, “I don’t want to look.” She thought she could feel the burns on her lungs and she shivered despite the bright sun.

“Don’t, it’s okay. I’ll tell you when they’re gone. Promise.”

She nodded and took another deep, shaking breath. “Don’t go.”

The figure straightened and replied immediately: “I won’t.”

She didn’t care who they were. She just wanted the pain to stop – and she almost laughed, wasn’t that the only good thing about what had happened? The promise of a quick, painless death?

_Bantha shit, apparently._

“I can’t believe they did this to you,” the voice whispered. “I… I wish… I wish I could have stopped them.”

Despite herself, despite everything, Rabé couldn’t help but smile – a weak, hollow smile that faded almost as soon as it had appeared. But a real smile, and suddenly she couldn’t remember the last time she had actually smiled. The voice was so endearing, so charmingly honest and earnest and serious and they sounded genuinely upset. She didn’t know who they were, but something told her that they hadn’t deserved their death.

She wasn’t so sure that she _hadn’t_ deserved her death. Everything she and Eirtaé had done for the past six years, ever since the Chancellor had declared himself the Emperor and the color had drained from the galaxy, everything had been done with the very simple purpose of taking him down.

Not that she’d been very successful. But perhaps they’d put some cracks in his black throne.

Rabé suddenly decided she didn’t like the silence or the distance. “Could you come closer? Please?”

The figure stood immediately and was at her side in two short steps. They were _tall_ , much taller than she was, curled up on the ground.

“They’re almost completely gone now.” Their voice sounded hopeful as they squatted next to her, a blurry hand reaching but stopping just short of her arm, and Rabé’s vision cleared a little more.

The face loomed closer, and Rabé squinted. There was something so familiar about that face, she’d seen that broad nose, that hesitant hopeful smile, that dense curly black hair…

Her eyes widened and she scrambled back in fear as she gasped, “You’re a _clone!”_

His face fell, and he slowly pulled his hand back. “Yeah.”

“You – you _killed the Jedi-_ ” Images of the burning Temple flashed before her eyes, the dense layers of fear that had settled over her mind like a coat of ashes. So many dead. Killed by their men. Killed by the clones. She’d never felt a fear as complete or dark as that day. She’d never felt so utterly hopeless. And she knew Palpatine had orchestrated it, but… there were _holovids_ of what had happened at the Temple. Security vids, never released to the public _because the Emperor was a master propagandist_ but Rabé had found them.

_Children._

He made a disgusted face. “Not me. I never betrayed my Jedi. _Never_.”

She stared at him until he groaned and settled back on his heels, resting his elbows on his knees. “I died – I was _killed_ – way before any of that. It’s…. it’s a long story. I was six months dead in the ground. Or, I guess,” and here he quirked a half-smile, his eyes dark as his gallows humor, “six months dead in the incinerator.”

Rabé’s stomach heaved. She fought her strangled nerves down and choked out, “I don’t – if you’ve been alone… how…?”

He glanced up to the sky, which – _what?_ – had shifted into dark night, but the light was still bright, there was no moon but a tapestry of stars; nothing made any sense here, “I don’t know. One morning I woke up and I just _knew._ ”

She tried not to cry out in frustration. She was supposed to be dead. But she still ached, all over – although her eyes were better, and her arm didn’t hurt nearly as much anymore – and Eirtaé was gone. And now, of all things, here was a clone who spoke like a Jedi. He almost reminded her of Master Jinn. Long dead. _Had he come to a place like this?_

She buried her face in the crook of her elbow and heard him settle in front of her. Her mind went back and tried to follow her path here, how she’d gone from raining Theed staring down the barrels of a dozen blasters to a sunlight – _no, starlit_ –  garden with a stranger who knew her name.

_Wait._

He’d said her name.

He’d said _I’m still here, Rabé._

“You know my name,” Rabé whispered, and the man shifted uncomfortably.

He didn’t say anything.

And then the words poured out in a rising tide of fear, “How do you know my _name_ , who the hell are you, where and _what_ is this place? You said we’re dead but I – _obviously_ – we’re _not_ , otherwise why – I don’t _understand_ -” and her words were choked back with a heaving sob and she wanted to fling herself to the ground and cry until she couldn’t feel anything.

“I… _kriff_. Okay. One thing at a time. I’m Fives.” As he said his name, he angled his head towards her and tapped the ink at his temple, looking at her expectantly. When she didn’t react, staring at him, her eyebrows furrowed together in confusion, his face fell a little. “Oh. That usually…”

“How do you know my name?”

He leaned back and ran a nervous hand through his hair. “That’s a bit harder to explain. Uh, can you walk, do you think?”

She tested her legs and - surprisingly - they responded immediately and without a trace of pain. “Yes. I think so. Why would that-”

Fives stood and offered his hand. As she gingerly took it, he said softly, “It’ll be easier just to show you.”

His grip was steady, soft, warm.

Something in the back of her mind whispered _finally_.

✧✧✧

The place where she had woken up was a garden, an oasis in the middle of a palace in the middle of a bustling city in the middle of –

“Rabé-”

_No, this can’t be real, no no no no NO_

“Rabé, _don’t_ focus on the horizon-”

Rabé heard his voice but all she could see was a vast, black expanse dotted with pinpricks of tiny distant galaxies beyond the hollow shells of an utterly empty city. The only thing between them and the black was the palace – which looked vaguely… _Alderaanian?_ – and the edges wavered like water on a shore, liquid and shifting and horribly unsolid. “What the _hell,”_ she whined, as her legs twisted underneath her and her faith in gravity was suddenly not quite as strong as it usually was.

She lunged for something, anything to hold on to as the universe threatened to swallow her whole – and she found Fives’ hands again and gripped them until he winced. He didn’t let go, though. “Don’t focus on the horizon – that’s the way to get some really nasty vertigo,” he explained gently. “Did that my first day here. I was trying to see if I recognized the stars, and, well. Couldn’t move for probably three hours, until my legs gave out. Then I was on the ground for another couple of hours.”

He sounded so nonchalant, and when she tore her eyes from that awful endless eternity she met his concerned gaze with difficulty. Rabé shuddered and moved closer to him, her grip on his hand not loosening in the slightest. If she let go, she might… _no. Don’t think like that._ “That’s awful… how did you get _out?”_

“Stared at a handful of rocks until I could move again. It was terrible.”

She shuddered again and nodded. She couldn’t bear to imagine the fear he must have felt, because she didn’t understand what was happening, she was disoriented as all hell but at least he was there to guide her through it. _All alone. He had been all alone._

The thought made her unbearably sad.

And to think: an hour ago, her biggest concern was making it to meet the firing squad.

The city beyond the maybe-Alderaanian palace walls was like a flattened and condensed Galactic City. Speeders and bikes drove in swarms in mid-air lanes, lights popped on and off intermittently in the dozens of starscrapers – Rabé lowered her gaze so that the drop-off into the black abyss of eternity wouldn’t short out her mind again – but the ghost city was almost as bad as the black that followed it. She stared at the city as they walked through the gardens, Fives leading the way as she clutched his arm and hand. She swallowed hard as a bright yellow speeder bike passed close by over their heads; it was distorted, almost pixelated and shallow and hollow – and there was no driver. “I thought you said you were alone. Then… the city?”

He shook his head. “It’s fake. Like… it’s like a set piece in a holodrama – and there’s no way across, either. I’ve looked, every place I could think of, and nothing. This palace… it’s like an island.”

Her mind felt as if it was floating just an _inch_ above her skull. Just enough to drive her mad. “How large is it?”

Fives gave her a strange but bemused glance as he answered, “It’s the exact same dimensions as the real Organa palace. Gardens and lake included, about six square miles. An exact replica.”

“Why _Alderaan_?” _Alderaan, of all places?_

His expression softened. “You’ll see in a bit. Promise.”

Rabé didn’t know if the reassuring squeeze of her hand was unconscious or not. If he noticed he did it, he gave no indication and continued to lead her through the small garden – a courtyard now, she saw – and into the palace itself.

Like he’d said, if she hadn’t known better, she would have thought she was truly on Alderaan. Sunlight streamed in through the tall windows, ancient stones meshed with modern durasteel, held together with sinews of marble. Portraits of Alderaan’s landscapes – which in reality ( _reality, no,_ she didn’t know, she couldn’t tell) had been replaced with the false city – and the goddesses and rulers decorated the walls. Everything was sharp and real – she released Fives’ arm and hesitantly ran a gentle hand over the frame of a portrait of a kindly King.

The gold was cold on her burning skin.

She shivered and her hand found Fives’ arm again, her hand tucking into the crook of his elbow and holding him fast. He was quiet as they moved through the halls. Letting her stare, wide-eyed, like a newborn, at her surroundings. Letting her take it in, at her own pace. She let out a quiet breath, clutching Fives’ arm.

“You said my injuries were gone, right?” She asked, suddenly, her hoarse and tired voice barely breaking the silence.

He caught her eyes and nodded once, firmly. “They’ve vanished.”

She ran a hand over her chest again and – sure enough – the burnt flesh had calmed, the bubbling horrible pain had dissipated. He led them to a mirror and then stopped. Rabé studied herself, looking for proof of her death.

There was none. No burn or mark or scar or bloodied wound. Nothing.

She wasn’t even wearing the clothes – _rags_ – that she had died – _been executed_ – in.

They were the deep burgundy of the Royal House, but her battlerobes had been one of the first things she’d lost. These robes were softer, longer, more luxurious; they not made for battle. The fabric was cool on her skin. Everything was new, fresh, entirely unsullied by blood and sweat. Her skirts were… pale yellow, into orange. Paired with the long-sleeved burgundy jacket trimmed with gold that nearly reached her feet, it reminded her of a sunset. _Or…_

Her throat tightened.

_Flames._

It was as if someone had taken the old flame gown she and her sisters had worn long ago, and had redesigned it as a burial gown.

Her hair was long and loose, wrapped together with a single, simple braid, dotted with a myriad of tiny white mourning flowers. Her skin bore no mark of the blade, or the shocks, or the burns. Nothing. Aside from her eyes, which were red-rimmed and full of tears, Rabé was dressed for the funeral she would never receive. Not as an executed traitor.

“These… these aren’t my clothes,” she finally said, dumbly.

Fives gave a short almost-laugh. “That happened to me, too. I don’t know how or where – heh, guess I don’t really know much of anything – but yeah. New world, new clothes. I guess.”

She nodded, letting her eyes drift over to examine him now. He wasn’t looking at the mirror. His face was downcast, eyes averted, like he was giving her a moment of privacy. His robes weren’t Nabooian – far too simple for that – but the blues and grays suited him well. Although they were far more sumptuous that anything a clone would normally have worn, he looked utterly at ease in them.

After a moment, he glanced over at her. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Drink?”

“Like… like tea, or something? That’s what people are supposed to do with guests, offer them drinks and stuff, yeah?” His eyebrows pulled together as they stopped at a junction in the sunlit halls. Rabé stared up at him, which seemed to release a stream of information tucked away in his head. “Kitchen’s down that way. It’s fully stocked, and as far as I can tell it’s replenished every morning. I don’t know how, but it has every single thing you could think of – cookbooks, too. Uh. I _was_ taking you to the greenhouse, because… that’s where everything will start to make sense. Hopefully.”

She realized with a start that he was asking for her preference. “Oh – uh – tea sounds wonderful. Please.”

Fives met her eyes and smiled, gesturing her down the hall.

Outside the windows, night had fallen once more, but now two distant suns were beginning to rise. She averted her eyes as her mind struggled again, focusing instead on the plush silver carpet under their feet, the pale yellow of her skirts, his dark gray pants and black boots as he led her into a wide, open, and utterly empty kitchen.

He deposited her near a raised counter in the center, patiently waiting as she detached herself from his arm and gripped the marble counter instead. Rabé perched on the edge of the chair, glancing around the gleaming kitchen as Fives rummaged in the pantry. Drying herbs hung from the ceiling, ghost green leaves and tiny bright flowers that filled the air with warm, sharp aromas. Intricate mosaics in blue and white tiles decorated the walls, cleanly swept blue tiles almost gave her the impression of deep oceans. Bronze crockery dotted the walls in between lush silvery plants. It felt like a well-loved home, a place of warmth and love and safety and Rabé’s nerves startled to settle.

“Want a little something extra in yours?” Fives asked, waving a small silver bottle in the air and startling her out of her thoughts. When she raised an eyebrow, he laughed – a little dejectedly, and Rabé realized that he was trying to make her laugh and her stomach gave a guilty twinge – and said, “Corellian rum. It might help calm-”

“Yes, please.”

He blinked, and then chuckled. “Alright, good. Uh – how strong…?”

Rabé considered her empty stomach, the fact that she had not eaten much in the days – in the _weeks_ – prior to facing the squad. And suddenly the bright line of death flashed before her eyes, she thought she could hear the faint echo of two bodies falling to the rain-soaked roads, so she shivered and said softly, “Fairly strong.”

Fives set to work, pulling two mugs from the cupboard and filling a small bronze kettle with water. Rabé watched him work, not understanding how – if this was after-death, if this was the afterlife – not understanding how the pipes were functional. Why they still needed to eat and drink and sleep. He set the kettle on the stove and started it on a low boil. While the water started to boil, he selected a tin of tea leaves from a pantry stuffed to the brim with them – _is that his favorite?_ She couldn’t read the label, but there were bright orange berries mixed in with the leaves, and whole dried blue flowers.

She could not have said why she was so entranced with watching him work.

The quiet pressed down on her ears and she blurted out the question she’d been secretly harboring, “How long have you been here?”

He shrugged. “I try not to think about it. A long time, I think. But I don’t know if time moves the same way here – the chronos are all different, and they jump around – so I really can’t say.”

Rabé chewed her lip as she thought, watching him pour the boiling water over the fresh leaves. Steam rose from the cups and curled into the streams of light from the wide windows. His movements were quick, efficient, confident. As he pulled a jar of liquid honey out from a cupboard – all immaculate and clean; he knew where everything was – she asked, “When did you die?”

His hands paused over the cap on the bottle for the barest second, but Rabé still caught it. An apology rose on her lips but before she could give voice to it he said, “Like I said earlier – about six months before that order went out. So…”

He shrugged, but Rabé’s heart had constricted so painfully at his words that she had to grip the counter.

_Six years._

The Jedi had been slaughtered by their men six years ago, six years before Rabé and Eirtaé had been captured. Six years since Padmé had died. _Been killed_. Sabé had moved to Alderaan, and Rabé could not blame her – Naboo was a thorn in their hearts without their Queen and Sabé _poor Sabé,_ she still loved Padmé – but Fives had been _here_ , utterly and entirely alone, for _six years._

Her expression must have contorted, must have given her away, because Fives grinned. Well. He _tried_ to grin. It wavered, unsteady, and then dropped altogether. “I don’t really want to know. I think I’d go crazy if I knew for sure.” His hands almost shook as he gave each of the mugs a generous pour of the rum, a spoonful of honey. The spoon scrapped against the porcelain and for a moment, that was the only sound in the vast, empty kitchens.

Rabé pulled her face back to neutrality and finally nodded. “Long enough?”

This time, he really did smile. He pushed the mug towards her and blew on his own. “Yeah,” he said softly, leaning against the counter. “Long enough.”

✧✧✧

Strange golden bubbles filled the air of the greenhouse. Dozens of them, floating in the gentle currents of the breeze like strange birds. Fives – again, an anchor – lead her down the winding greenhouse path until they found a small seating area. Two chairs, a bench, and a table amidst the greenery.

He waited until her eyes fell to him, full of questions she didn’t have the words for, and then he said simply: “They’re memories.”

Some of the bubbles’ edges were sharp, clearly defined; others were gentle and blurred, almost faded. “The more they’re handled, the more quickly they fade.” He walked around the greenhouse, scanning the bubbles for… something; pushing some aside, always gentle, always careful.

Fives finally found what he was looking for near a sapling of a weeping willow, delicate pink buds starting to show through the young green leaves. He didn’t have to hold it. Merely pushed it along, back to where Rabé sat and watched, entranced. Every time his fingers brushed against the strange, almost-solid surface, it let out a faint ring that hung in the air for a moment before fading.

Rabé set her mug down and reached for it, enchanted. It landed in her hands and suddenly, she was staring at a picture of _herself._

And there was Fives, too; a scene shifting in the bubble, faint, like an old holovid with worn drives.

“It’s – it’s _us?_ ”

Fives nodded as he watched, but Rabé’s attention was fully on the corporal memory in her hands. It was heavier than she had ever thought a memory could be, as cool and solid as a marble. Though the edges were not solid by any means, the scene inside looked as if it had been imprinted on a puddle of water, shimmering and effervescent within the bounds of materials that Rabé did not recognize. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as the silvery liquid inside shifted, and she was staring at herself.

No. Not herself. A different version; another life.

“As far as I can tell,” Fives said quietly, moving to an ornate white metal bench opposite her, “this is when we met. When we _should_ have met.”

She saw her sisters. Skywalker. A young Togruta she did not recognize, and a handful of clones including – yes, there he was, confident and though she knew that ARC armor was heavy, he wore it gracefully.

“This is the _Resolute_ – General Skywalker’s flagship. That’s his Padawan, Ahsoka Tano.” He started to ask another question, perhaps _is Skywalker still alive,_ and then thought against it. “We were all assigned a mission together.”

“A mission to Alderaan.” Her head started to swim again, but now things were beginning to make sense. “To catch the Separatist spy in Queen Breha’s court.”

His eyes widened in surprise. “Yes, exactly! That’s the one! But I remember this mission. And I remember talk of trying to get Senator Amidala’s former handmaidens, but…”

“Queen Neeyutnee forbade us from going.” Rabé tore her gaze from the marbled memory in her hands and stared at him. “I remember Padmé sending the message, we tried to convince Her Highness to free us for a month or so but she refused. She wanted us to stay on Naboo…”

Everything had depended on that moment, on that hinge in time. In one life, they had persuaded the Queen to let them work with the Jedi. In this one, in _her_ life, the Queen had stood her ground and changed… _everything._

Fives’ mouth twisted, but he did not say anything. After a moment, she returned her gaze to the bubbled memory in her hands.

In the memory, Fives – broad-shouldered, confident, cocky – asked Rabé to spar. The voices were muffled, like listening through a door. Their memory-selves sank into a ready position, and she quieted a quick laugh at memory-Fives’ expression. He wasn’t worried. He should have been. “Pretty self-confident, aren’t you?”

He grinned crookedly at her, delighted with her joke. “Learned my lesson pretty quick.” He gestured back down the memory with his chin, and Rabé watched herself throw memory-Fives onto his back. He blinked up at her, equal parts impressed and intimidated and in awe as she leaned over him, and then the scene shuddered, shifted, and looped back to the beginning.

She exhaled a breath she hadn’t even known she had been holding.

And her eyes drifted to the ceiling of the greenhouse, to the vast number of strange solid floating things that held memories of different times, different universes. In between the sprawling leaves, crawling vines, and brilliantly colored flowers, the bubbles floated gently in place – like flowers from another plane of existence.

“They’re… _all_ of them are of… _us?”_

“Yeah. Centered on the two of us. Other people come and go… Hardcase and Kix and General Skywalker, and the other handmaidens… even Senator Amidala. But they’re all centered around _us._ ”

“The constant.”

He nodded, and she released the memory. It floated gently away, and as the spar played out again, and again and again, Rabé reached for her mug. Clutched it until the nip of heat made her focus.

“I don’t understand, how is this _possible_ …?” She tried in vain to think of tech that could do this, that could extract and pull memories, but came up unbearably short – of course her first question still rang in her mind, _how am I alive,_ but right now she couldn’t stop staring at another Rabé’s memories. She caught glimpses of the other images held within the translucent bubbles, memories she didn’t understand and couldn’t even place but memories that tugged at something deep in her mind all the same: sitting at a table, cleaning her elega blaster, Fives across from her; by a lake, late at night…

Dancing with him in a ballroom she did not recognize, dressed as a noblewoman and Captain.

…a wedding.

That memory faded in a haze of golden light, and Rabé shivered, despite the warmth of the greenhouse, of the mug in her hands and the rum in her blood. Fives waited, quiet and watchful, as she tried to gather her thoughts, tracing the broad leaf that hung nearby, tried to pretend that her hand wasn’t shaking.

She took a breath and shut her eyes, and slowly ticked off the things she could more or less grasp as truth.

_I was killed. By the Empire._

_I woke up here._

_I don’t know where ‘here’ is._

_I am not in pain anymore._

_This man, Fives, is the only other one here._

_He’s been here for roughly six years._

_He called this place an afterlife._

_I don’t know where Eirtaé went._

_That city is not a city._

_And someone recorded another… another Rabé’s memories. And placed them here for us to watch._

She opened her eyes and clutched at the mug in her lap, despondent and confused and tired _still so tired_. Her body might not show the marks of her injuries anymore but her mind still pulsed with pain, still begged for solid ground that might very well never come again. She could feel Fives watching her, just as cautious as he had been in the garden, and for that she was grateful because she still felt as if she might collapse again at any moment. He wasn’t leaning forward, wasn’t aggressively in her space – he was studying her over the rim of his mug, leaning back in his seat, making a very clear effort to make himself appear smaller.

Rabé took three deep breaths and finally met his eyes again. She swallowed thickly and murmured, “What is this place?”

Even though she wasn’t entirely sure she could handle the answer.

Fives straightened, set his mug down, and began softly, gently, “I don’t have all the answers. And I know that’s frustrating, but I’m… I’ll do my best.” He cleared his throat, turned his hands over in his lap, and went on, “So. Uh. This is an exact match to Aldera Palace, but for whatever reason, we’re the only ones here.” He shot her a nervous smile, his eyes quickly flicking away from hers. “I used to be alone. So I know you’re probably really confused an’ all but I’m… _relieved_ to see someone else again. _Beyond_ relieved. I almost can’t believe it, and… and some part of me is worried that it’s a trick. That I’ll wake up tomorrow morning and you’ll be gone, but for some reason… I know that won’t happen. Downside is, that means you’re dead. We both are. Your injuries are gone, but… I saw them, when you first arrived. Definitely dead.”

His expression flickered with something like anger, fierce and protective, and Rabé’s eyes found the memories again – how well must he know her, some _version_ of her, to react like that? How often had he watched back the memories of their other lives?

“It took me a long time to come to terms with that. And some days are better than others. But for a long time… I didn’t _want_ to believe it. I tried everything – I found the Security Center and hotwired the panels to try to get in contact with somebody, anybody – by that point I didn’t care if it was _Dooku_ that heard the transmission. I’d have kissed him on the spot, if he came to rescue me. But of course… no one answered. No one _could_ answer. No comms, in or out; no ships or speeders. The horizon of the lake never get any closer, past a certain point. Same with the palace grounds. It _looks_ like you can just walk out of here, take the road to the city – but it’s like there’s an invisible barrier. And it felt like being pushed with the Force – Skywalker did that to me more than a few times, I know the feeling – so I walked the entire perimeter, looking for a breach, looking for a way out. Nothing worked.

“Eventually I started to notice these things, these memories. I guess I thought they were weird birds at first – and that’s another thing, there are animals here and there, as far as I can tell they’re… maybe not _real_ , but more real than that city, if that makes sense, you can interact with them if you want – but once I… _got over_ it, more or less, once I accepted that this was _real_ and there was no way out, I actually started looking around. I started paying attention to these things.”

Rabé stared at him, goosebumps on her arms with the way he’d danced around the words _got over it_ ; how he’d glanced over how desperate and painful that time had been, _must_ have been. If it had been anything like what happened to her… in pain, confused, expecting death but getting a not-quite life instead, and the terrible loneliness against a backdrop of unknown, unfamiliar eternity.

“They were spread out all over the palace grounds, like a scavenger hunt. By the lake, in random closets, floating along in the gardens or corridors – they were everywhere, in no order. Just… floating along. One morning one bumped against my head until I woke up, like it was trying to get my attention. So I grabbed it and… and it was that one.” He nodded at the bubble of their spar, which was now floating amongst a thick group of bright yellow flowers. “I must have watched it a hundred times, just glued to the spot. I didn’t recognize you or the other handmaidens but I recognized my brothers, Skywalker, Ahsoka… and suddenly I _had_ to find the rest, I had to see what the other images looked like. For the memories, for the company. I was desperate for any scrap of company I could find. What they contained, because even if it was just a small fragment of a conversation with Rex, or Echo… I needed it. I needed _them_. It was like an ache in my gut, to have them so close, so… for a while, that’s all I could do. I was addicted to finding them.

“Didn’t take me long to realize that I didn’t recognize most of those memories, and that… and that _you_ were in almost every single one of them.” He stopped talking, cleared his throat, and for a moment there was only silence in the greenhouse. He played with the hem of his dark blue robe as he thought – avoiding her eyes – like he was hoping the words would be written on that fabric. “It took me a while until I found one where someone said your name. That’s how I knew your name, in the garden. I recognized you immediately.” He stopped, laughed a little again, and said, quietly, “I know it sounds ridiculous, but… the memories were a lifeline. I don’t know what I would have done if they hadn’t been here for me to find. And organize. Seeing the people in them… they kept me from going mad, I think.”

Despite the warmth cupped in her hands, Rabé couldn’t help but shiver. She brought her mug close to her lips so that the steam ghosted over her skin like a gentle kiss. Above them, the memories floated placidly among the flowering plants. _Memories of another life._

Rabé had only been dead for an hour, and already, _already_ her reality – her view of it – had been distorted and shredded. Like a force had ripped through a painting of her perceptions to reveal the wider and much more terrifying world beyond the canvas. What she thought she had known was flat and dull compared to _this._

“That’s… more or less the story. As far as I can make out… and I _know_ this sounds ridiculous, but-”

“But we’re kind of past the point of worrying about _sounding_ ridiculous,” Rabé murmured, and Fives’ eyes flashed up to meet hers. He grinned, as if she had passed a test, and nodded.

 “I wish I had more solid proof, more of an answer to give you, but that’s all I got.”

She tried to smile, and took another sip of her tea. It blossomed like warmth in her belly – it certainly was helping her absorb the unreality of her new situation with greater ease than she could have hoped for. “It’s answer enough, I suppose.”

“I… I even tried meditating.”

“Meditating?”

“Yeah. Like a Jedi. Like I’d seen General Kenobi do, once or twice. I’d… I’d run out of ideas at that point, and I felt so kriffin’ stupid doing it,” he said, laughing a little at himself as he ran a hand through his hair. “But it worked, though. I think.”

Rabé cupped her warm mug in both hands and waited, silent, as he found the words. “I think this place, wherever and whenever it is, is almost… _outside_ of the galaxy. Outside of space-time as we know it. And when I meditated and focused and demanded to know just what the hell was going on, I got one word, clear as any order. _Wait_. I don’t know how to describe it other than blaming it on the Force, because it was the weirdest thing I’d ever felt, like someone had crawled into my head and wrote it directly onto my eyes. _Wait._ ”

The edges of their little universe rippled, and Rabé shifted her gaze to the blades of grass by her feet. Above their heads, the bubbled memories floated and shifted across a spectrum of colors, like strangely comforting lanterns.

“Did it tell you what you were waiting for?” She asked the question into her mug.

He didn’t answer, and when she looked up, he was staring at her, amber eyes boring into hers like he still thought she was a dream, that she would vanish at any moment. She held his gaze for a moment – more out of defiance than anything – before shifting uncomfortably. And the spell was broken. He cleared his throat, coughed, awkward.

She thought she could hear birdsong. Somewhere, very distant. Very faint. Very lovely.

“Sorry,” he said finally, quietly, glancing down at his hands. “It’s just… I think I’ve been waiting here for a reason. For… for you. I’ve been waiting to meet you for so long.” He whispered the words, his hands twisting in his lap. Shyly.

Rabé did not know what to say to that.

✧✧✧

The suite was magnificent.

Pale white marble gleamed in the light of the setting sun, casting it in liquid gold. Plush dark blue couches and chairs surrounded an actual fireplace, wide windows that opened onto a crescent-moon balcony. Gauzy white curtains danced in the breeze from the lake.

Her heart lurched and she wanted to run her hands over every thread, every carving, every single thing in the room. Fives steered her up the wide step to a large bedroom, and Rabé’s feet took her to the bed before Fives could say anything.

He laughed a little, and set about opening the windows for her as she gathered the skirts of her flame burial gown in one hand and climbed onto the plush white sheets.

She sat down on the bed as he walked through the rooms, talking as he went. Her hand roamed the subtle embroidery on the coverlet, her fingers tracing stitches that seemed hand-sewn _but who could have sewn them? Who created this place?_

Though she knew very well that by now, there were some questions that would never be answered.

“I’m right across the common space. I don’t know what drew me to _this_ suite, and, uh, of course you don’t have to stay here. If you don’t want to. There are dozens of other bedrooms, but I thought… I thought you might want me close by. For now.” He was in the bathroom, opening the windows, letting the light stream in. He talked a lot when he was nervous.

She thought _he_ might also want – need? – _her_ close by.

Rabé’s eyelids weighed her down like rocks.

Her body still ached from the memory of the torture.

She was asleep by the time he came back out of the bathroom.

When she woke to a face full of sunlight, blinking blearily and confused, she only remembered where she was when she put a hand to her hair and felt the crushed mourning flowers there. Her bed was scattered with them.

Some of the petals stuck to her skin.

✧✧✧

He called them libraries.

“Divided by timeline, as best as I could make out,” he said proudly, walking through the columns of memories that floated like bubbles in the air of the Great Hall. The memories’ edges were worn, well-thumbed and loved. “This is the timeline where – _somehow_ – the order didn’t go through. The Jedi are still here in this one. And the one in the armory is the one where it all went to shit, that bastard still won and we fought against him.”

Rabé couldn’t stop the soft smile from tugging on the corners of her lips. “’We’?”

Fives stopped walking and stammered as a faint blush coloring his cheeks, “Y-yeah. You still lived in Theed, and I was on the run. Guess that bastard really took personal offense to my continued living. But… there are some memories of me… uh. Scaling the palace walls. Sneaking into your room...” He couldn’t quite meet her eyes, and Rabé’s heart stuttered.

They didn’t know each other, had only known each other in this strange place for less than a day, and yet he was still flustered around her?

For a moment, she let herself imagine what he had been like in the _other_ lives; how had he acted around her _then?_

Rabé’s stomach twisted in envy. Why had _she_ been the one to lead a life without this joy, this love? The Force had brought them here, had made Fives wait six cruel long lonely years, and for what? To make them sit and watch as countless other lives, other selves, parade by? Did the Force save her spirit, her soul, _whatever the hell it wants to call me_ just to grind her down _further_ after the most intense pain she’d ever felt?

Above, the bubbles of translucent memories floated, suspended in the high arched ceilings of the great hall. Light from the sun – _a true star? Or just another illusion?_ – danced on their strange surfaces, reflecting the colors of the memories onto the marble below, warming her skin a thousand patterns of unknown lifetimes. Red from her battle dress, blue from Fives’ armor, shifting greens and purples and oranges… like stained glass, the memories painted the hall, painted _them_ , in hazy shifting lights.

A cathedral to their love.

She sighed, and slowly waited for the bitterness to subside before she asked, “Which is your favorite?”

He stared at her, then glanced down at his feet, shuffling awkwardly. He glanced around, looking for a specific memory, gently pushing others aside until he found one with well-worn edges. Like a beloved book thumbed through, many times. He stared at it fondly for the briefest moment before he handed it to her.

It was soft and comforting in her hands, and the scene was simple, and Rabé found herself blushing as she watched the memory of a different self. Though they were both clothed in the memory, something about it still felt so intimate, so tender and sweet that she almost felt as if she shouldn’t be watching at all. It shifted like a holovid scene, but it still felt so real – even as she watched a version of herself that had never been.

They were dozing together, in the memory. On a beach somewhere, warm and sunny and calm. Memory-Rabé’s head on his chest, memory-Fives’ fingers lazily brushing through her hair as the sun played mosaics on their warm skin. Like they didn’t have a care in the world. And then someone else walked – toddled would be a better word – into the memory. A little girl with bronze skin like Fives’ and bright blonde curls. She couldn’t have been more than two years old, chubby and happy and giggling as she plopped down next to Fives and poked him until he woke up. Memory-Fives and memory-Rabé both shifted, both smiled and welcomed the little girl, and Rabé’s heart seized as she realized that this must be their daughter.

 _Their_ daughter.

A child, a little life; and Rabé’s mouth was filled with strong, bitter jealousy as her phantom hands reached up to stroke her daughter’s cheek.

_It’s not fair._

She wanted to scream, scream until her voice shattered and tore her throat to pieces until it bled. She’d been forced to watch as the Empire tortured Eirtaé until her sister’s eyes had glazed over from an insurmountable pain, but the _other_ Rabé? Oh, bless her, _damn her, she_ had bathed in the sunlight without a care in the universe – had they happened at the same time? Had one life been full and happy while the other was cruel and cramped and _miserable?_

Rabé didn’t realize she was sobbing until Fives lifted the memory from her hands and put it back in its place among the others. He didn’t try to touch her. They weren’t there yet, they were strangers in this _now_ and _here_ but there were universes where they’d known each other intensely, intimately. Where his fingers tangled in her loose hair and she slept on his chest.

Where they were a _family_.

Fives didn’t try to touch her. He remained a distance away but his voice was soft as he whispered, “I cried, too.”

✧✧✧

The first night had been fine. She’d fallen asleep so quickly she hadn’t even had time to process how empty the halls and streets were beyond their little sanctuary. Turns out that death takes quite a lot out of a person.

_But now…_

Now it was supposedly three in the morning, and Rabé was still wide awake. Pressing her ears against the soft pillow, she could hear the steady echoing drumbeat of her heart – a sound that should have stopped days before but something kept her body ticking, she certainly didn’t _feel_ dead – and all it did was bring her mind to the dark, silent, empty ghost corridors that lay outside of her rooms. Every time she closed her eyes, or curled into herself as tightly as she could, the fear crept in. Persistent and unforgiving.

She hated it. Hated the wide, empty halls of cold marble, hated the feeling of turning the corner and expecting to see someone – when in reality (which she didn’t quite believe in anymore), if Fives wasn’t around that corner, then no one would be there. He couldn’t answer her questions about why they were in a palace at the edges of the universe, why a flat ghost Galactic City hummed in the background, why the stars and moon followed skewed patterns of their own accord. He’d looked for the answers, but the books in the library were unconcerned with the formalities of space-time.

Fives said he’d gotten used to it. The feeling of not-quite-death. She still felt hunger, still needed sleep; and still, the creeping, shadowy unease. She thought, sometimes, that she could see Eirtaé in the shadows. Or Padmé, walking along the balcony, tiny flowers in her long dark hair.

The room was deafening in its silence.

She thought she might break – her breath was coming faster now, her heartbeat tripping over itself as her hands shook in fists on the covers.

Rabé pushed herself off the bed, grabbed the thick blanket and threw it over her shoulders as she padded to his door.

She wasn’t thinking – but she almost ran past the door that led _outside_ , the door that couldn’t keep the ghosts out.

Fives answered her timid-but-desperate knocks within fifteen seconds.

“I can’t sleep,” she said, suddenly awash with guilt. She’d woken him – that much was obvious. _Should_ have been obvious, had she been thinking straight. But she couldn’t keep the ghosts out, not alone. His hair was tousled and his eyes were drowsy – she’d woken him with a feeble excuse. “I’m – I’m so sorry, I-”

She shivered, drew the blanket closer, cast a suspicious, frightened glance to the door and then the windows. _Ghosts don’t sleep_ , she thought numbly as empty speeders raced behind the palace walls. She looked back at him – frowning now, concentrating on her words – and tried again: “Can I sleep in here? I can’t – I don’t want to be alone. Would you… please…?”

He blinked and murmured, his voice low and gravely from sleep, “Of course – come in.” He stepped aside and Rabé, who felt very much like a child, dragged herself and her blanket in. Fives moved around her and flicked on one of the candledroids, and Rabé looked around his room in naked curiosity. Stacks of datapads covered every possible surface, blasters from at least three separate systems placed in strategic areas – _guarding against ghosts? –_ but it was orderly and homely.

She noticed the bundle of candlewicks on his desk and couldn’t stop a gentle smile, despite her looming fear, despite the fear that if she did not feel his warmth soon she would collapse. Again.

How many times could one person break and still get back up?

“You can take the bed,” Fives said, startling her out of her thoughts.

She tightened the blanket around her shoulders and stared at him, frowning slightly. The bed was more than large enough to share. “But I-”

“-‘s okay.” He waited until she moved towards his bed before he nodded. “It’s comfortable.”

_Then share it with me._

The back of her neck prickled with unease and she cast another glance towards the door. Being in the same room with him was a start, her heart wasn’t racing quite as fast and her hands no longer shook with a bitter fear, but the ghosts still wandered in the hallways. _Padmé, Eirtaé… who else? Cordé?_

It wasn’t better. “But…”

She wanted to sleep _next_ to him but he adamantly refused to share the bed. “I don’t mind sleeping on the floor,” he said with a wry grin, as he tossed the pillows and blankets onto the soft rug. “Really,” he insisted, when he caught her unconvinced look. “I don’t.”

_It’s not better._

Fives waited until she’d settled, tense, on the edge of the bed, either ignoring or oblivious to her unhappiness. He gave her a tired smile and then stretched out onto his makeshift mattress – and he was asleep in what seemed like seconds. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes but she forced them down as she tried to settle. Tried to hear his breathing to time her own to. Didn’t he realize? She needed the warmth, the reminder of another presence.

_Doesn’t he?_

Rabé sat up again, ignoring the chrono on the table because now it said that it was _one_ in the morning when it had been _three_ and she hated it, she hated the feeling of dizziness that never seemed to go away. So, once more, she pulled her blanket around her shoulders and padded over to Fives.

She didn’t mind sleeping on the floor, either.

She knelt, and Fives’ eyes opened and watched her in the deep silver starlight.

He didn’t move, didn’t move away, when she snuck under his blankets and curled up next to him, but she heard his quiet breath catch in his lungs. Rabé pressed herself as close as she could to him, her face nearly buried in the blankets covering his chest. It was so quiet that she could hear his heartbeat now. Elevated. But he did not move away.

Softly, suddenly: “Are you sure?” He whispered, the question soft as the blankets piled around them.

Rabé nodded into his chest. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“Okay.” He swallowed. “I… good. Neither do I.” He laughed a little but it sounded closer to tears as he went on, like the words had just been waiting to rush forth in a current, “It’s just… I used to sleep in the barracks, with my brothers. I was _surrounded_ by my family. And then… I was alone. For the first time in my life.” He paused again, the tick of the chrono filling the loud silence of the room, and Rabé could sense the ghosts creeping along through the shadows. “I’ve never been alone. Not like that.”

“You’re not alone anymore,” she murmured. They lay together in silence, and then she reached for his hand. He let out a long, slow sight – mixed relief and bitter melancholy – as she clasped his strong hand, brought it between them, between their echoing heartbeats. Fives pressed his face into the pillows and his grip was enough to tell Rabé that he knew. “Not anymore. …I’m here. I’m here now.”

His fingers intertwined with hers, his relief palpable in his grip. Another long, shuddering breath, and then: “Thank the _gods_.”

Six years. Alone. How terrible it was, how cruel that the Force had left him here. He had to face the ghosts of the night alone, unable to run, blindly trusting that he wouldn’t be forgotten, that he was waiting for someone. It hurt her heart and lungs to think about. He closed his eyes and said it again, slowly, like a prayer as he slipped into sleep, “ _Thank the gods_.”

She woke first the next morning, and she did not move away. During the night, he had curled into her, his head under her chin, his breath warm on her chest.

Their hands were still clasped together, and Rabé’s heart tugged with some gentleness it had long forgotten as she watched Fives sleep on, his breaths deep and peaceful.

She hoped he was dreaming of something sweet.

✧✧✧

The next night, she did not return to her own room.

Fives was right; the bed _was_ comfortable. More comfortable than the floor, in any case.

Sleep came easy that night, and every night after that.

✧✧✧

Something about the kitchen made her questions float out of her mouth, like the words had a will of their own. They were cooking together now, _for_ each other. The first time he’d made a Nabooian sweet-pepper-dish for her, on the third-maybe-fourth day, the face she’d made after the first bite had made him laugh so hard he nearly cried.

She liked making him laugh.

But something about the kitchen made the words slip out of her all the same. On the seventh-maybe-eighth day, she nonchalantly asked, “Do you remember it? Dying?” She’d been trying to remember her death, but all she could remember was the burning, the cold rain on her skin.

He glanced over his shoulder and nodded. “Yeah.” He was chopping vegetables, she was folding over an intricate pastry. A Twi’lekki recipe, chock full of desert plants and meats, simple and hearty. The pastry stuck to her fingers in gobs. She tried in vain to shake them clean, grumbling quietly in mock frustration, and thought he maybe smiled softly over at her before returning to the deep purple root in front of him. “Do you not…?”

“No. Not really.” She remembered the rain, and the burning. And the hollow, glass-like way Eirtaé stood next to her. Bright, quick-witted Eirtaé. A poisoned shell. “I always thought dying would be… more eventful, I guess.” The Naboo traditions spoke of waters rising over one’s head, like that of a crest of a wave, when the time had come. But if the waters had risen for her, she did not remember.

“I think you died a lot quicker than I did. Six or seven blasts to the heart’ll do that.”

“…fair point.” _So you were in pain,_ and the thought drove a dagger through her skull.

Like he heard her thoughts, Fives shrugged. “I remember being relieved, though. Beyond the pain and the fear, there was something like… like when you’re really exhausted and are just about to crawl into bed. Like I was finally going to sleep after a really, really long day. And… Rex was there. I’m glad it was him.” _I’m glad I wasn’t alone_ were the words he almost said, Rabé could tell.

“Your brother?”

“Yeah. My Captain. He was the one who promoted me, all the way through the 501st and to ARC. He was there on Rishi, and he was there in the warehouse.” Fives’ hands slowed, his voice caught in his throat, thick and mournful, “Rex saw me through, beginning to end. I di… _it_ happened in his arms. He held me as I…”

His voice trailed off.

She remembered the blond-haired Captain from not-her-memories, the firm-yet-doting way he handled his men, and wished she could find the words to help. But it was as if she was mute.

“I think he was more scared than I was.” His eyes were very far away now, like he’d utterly forgotten the knife held above the purple root.

 “My sister was there,” Rabé said, wanting to ease his pain, to let him know he was not alone. “Sabé. She was my Captain, too.”

 _The last ones standing_.

He was silent, and when Rabé glanced over at him she could see his lips pressed together in a thin line. His hands shook, the blade of his knife catching the light and wavering a fraction of an inch.

“She’s still alive?”

Rabé nodded. _For now_ , she thought, thinking of the Fulcrum symbol. Sabé had a target on her back; she’d never find rest or piece ever again. Not that she’d wanted it. And now that the Empire had taken Rabé and Eirtaé, Sabé would never rest.

“We left ‘em both, huh?” He gave a short almost-laugh, almost more bitter than she could bear. “Do you ever think they resent us, for leaving them?”

She shook her head. Whispered, “I think they’re proud of us.”

Fives was quiet, and then the blade of the knife slowly, slowly tipped down until it stuck in the wooden cutting board with a quiet, sad sound. “I tried to warn them. I… I _tried._ But I failed them, they didn’t listen... I _tried_ to _tell them,_ I tried, I tried _…_ ” he whispered hoarsely, and Rabé remembered the pastry on her hands only after she had enveloped him in her arms. He stiffened for a moment and then –

His cheek came to softly rest on her hair.

“You were so brave,” she murmured, and squeezed harder, and only then did his arms hesitantly wrap around her shoulders. Heavy, solid, warm, he let himself sink in her arms. “You were _magnificent.”_

✧✧✧

Exploring the palace grounds took up most of her time. Fives had already walked it more than a dozen times – he was almost certain that he could navigate the halls blindfolded (though he refused to test it out, to prove it to her) – but she wanted to know every corner, every single nook and cranny of their strange, elaborate, time-defying, beautiful prison.

Today, she wandered the halls in the West Wing – alone now, she was used to the way this world worked, used to its quirks and didn’t feel the need to clutch onto Fives’ arm every time she stepped out of their room – and somehow, she found the servants’ stairs. She followed them up and up and up, winding her way through the palace’s warrens, until it deposited her in a dusty corridor. Dust motes danced in the pale sun from the end of the narrow hall, and had she not caught the gentle floating _hum_ of a memory, she would not have opened the heavy wooden door.

Picturing the look on Fives’ face when she brought him a lost memory, one they could watch together, made her heart stutter with nerves and joy. She wondered for a half-moment if there would more of them to find, together, before she saw the rest of them and realized – with a disappointing sinking feeling – that these memories had already been found.

She’d found another library.

 _So out of the way? Why is it so remote…?_ He’d given the other libraries grand and beautiful locations: the greenhouse, the Great Hall, the armory… what was so special about _these?_

Rabé took one of the memories in her hands. Unlike the other libraries, Fives had just shoved all these bubbles into one of the cramped storage closets. They weren’t organized, their edges sharp and crisp. He’d only watched these once. And most not even all the way through – they were pristine, untouched. He’d pushed them up here and then forgotten them, to the point where he hadn’t even remembered to tell her about this library.

The memory was sharp and warm in her hands, heavy. She moved to the light from the thin window slat and watched, amused, wondering why Fives had crammed _these_ memories in _here_. Maybe they’d been memories of fights they’d had?

She glanced up and wrinkled her nose in confusion. They’d fought a _lot_ , this was one of the largest libraries –

The memory shivered and pulsed in her hand, and she peered down at it, eyes narrowed in concentration. Fives had said he still wasn’t used to watching the memories back. “They’re _different_ versions of us. Us, but from different times; people we never were but could have been. It’s disconcerting. They’re… _that_ Fives was happier. Well. He certainly _lived_ longer than I did.”

Rabé settled against the cool stone wall and brought the bubble closer to her face, straining to catch an answer to _why had we fought so much?_

Memory-Rabé was in a kitchen. From what she could see, the dim glimpses of the windows as the Force shifted and bubbled around the memory, it looked to be like their rooms on Coruscant. Memory-Fives slipped into the room to stand behind her – they didn’t _look_ as if they were about to fight. Her stomach gave a jealous twinge at how happy memory-Rabé looked when he wrapped his arms around her waist. He buried his face in her hair, in her phantom hair, and Rabé’s hand floated to her own. Empty. Cold.

The memory shifted again, and she watched.

She watched, not understanding, not understanding until memory-Fives’ hands were on the fasteners of her robes, and memory-Rabé was smiling and relaxing back against him, both forgetting the meal she had been preparing as he kissed her neck and one of his hands gently cupped her breasts while the other snuck down between-

Oh.

_Oh._

_OH._

Her cheeks burst into flame as her eyes snapped up to the other memory bubbles and now she could see – not fighting, not fighting at _all_ – _gods, and is this the largest library?_ – her eyes caught another bubble in the hangar of what could only be a Star Destroyer _,_ hidden in a laartie tucked into a corner and all of them full of desperate rough hands and crashing hungry lips and faces buried in shoulders, nails scraping against backs and grasping for purchase on flesh or clothes or anything nearby _STOP watching_ , now she understood why these memories were untouched and Rabé pushed the bubble away from her, her cheeks on fire as she scrambled down out of the storage closet, slamming the door shut behind her, phantom memories of her-hands-but-not-her-hands and Fives’-hands-but-not-his-hands skittering around in her head until she was three flights down from the library.

Fives was in the kitchen, working from a large cookbook, and when she crashed into the room, he looked up and smiled and Rabé’s blush darkened because all she could think about was that _other_ kitchen, the memory of one, as he said, oblivious, “I’ve done it! I’ve been working on this one recipe for _weeks_ and I think I’ve cracked it! Trick is apparently to _under-_ bake the… uh…”

And his eyes met hers, followed her crashing course from the hidden library in the closet, connected her blush to her path and his eyes widened, his face drained of color and then sprang right to red at a speed that would have been almost funny, “Wait – did you – you found the-”

He couldn’t finish the sentence, and they stared at each other from across the pristine kitchen that only they used.

After an agonizing minute, Rabé finally got her body to work and she nodded, silently, shortly, her eyes wide.

Fives’ blush deepened and he clutched the bowl to his chest like he hoped it would somehow rescue them both from the situation. Rabé’s legs sprang into action of their own accord and she was gone, scrambling through the wide, empty halls of their afterlife, phantom memories of her hands on Fives’ body, of his lips on hers.

Of course, she knew that at some point they’d had to have slept together – they had _children_ , for gods’ sakes, _children that looked like both of them_ and that could usually only happen a certain way – but she hadn’t realized that the Force would have pulled _those_ memories, too –

She only stopped when she got to her room and went straight to the balcony, the chill of the maybe-Alderaanian night air cooling her cheeks, whipping her hair into a frenzy as she tried not to think about how she might be more than a little jealous of the self that she had caught just a glimpse of; sitting on his lap, his hands holding her tight, his lips at the base of her throat, both of them drowning in hazy honeyed lights that caught the gold of their formalwear and made them shine like stars.

✧✧✧

“It won’t work, you know,” Fives said as he stretched. She made a face and he laughed, continuing, “I already _know_ that you’re a good fighter – you have officially lost the element of surprise.”

She straightened to her full, not-very-intimidating height and shot him a sly grin. “That’s not the only trick I have.”

He barely had time to blink before she’d charged him. Her shoulder made square, solid contact with his stomach and he wheezed as the air rushed from his lungs – but he was quick to adapt. Rabé felt his muscles readjust, his stance widen – and before he could sweep her legs she sprang back, and they started to circle each other.

“That was good,” he taunted, his entire body obviously electrified with adrenaline. “Not good _enough_ , though!”

“Haven’t you learned your lesson already?” She threw back, and Fives’ wild, crooked grin matched her own.

He was good – very good – much better than she’d been expecting. She’d never sparred with an ARC trooper before, and Fives wasn’t going easy on her; he never relented, never gave her an opening, and she could see the engineering in his body as the spar went on: incredible stamina and endurance. She could see his moves coming with ease, and the longer they fought, the more she could see just how perfectly matched they were. He was large and strong, she fast and light.

It was anyone’s game – and as soon as she thought that, she’d already lost.

Fives – moving more quickly than she could have predicted – looped around behind her, hooked his arms around her waist and before she realized what was happening, Rabé was suddenly a foot taller and flying through the air but heading back down very quickly – she cried out, in shock more than anything, as he managed, finally, to pin her.

She blinked, and then burst out laughing, her stomach still flipping from her journey through the air, the excellent pain that came with a good spar flooding her blood – she laughed, and laughed and laughed in delight.

His face split into a wide, triumphant smile, and he started to laugh with her, beaming – _certainly she couldn’t help but notice he was still touching her, still holding her, they were tangled together on the mat, how could she not notice_ -

She pressed her hands to her mouth, still giggling, still flat on her back and staring up at Fives – propped over her, one hand draped across her waist – who was looking down at her like she was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen. She tried to get control of her laughter, hardly managed it, and said breathlessly, “I’m out of practice!”

He grinned. “Me, too.”

The laughter bubbled up out of her again, and Fives gazed at her with such naked fondness that she had to look away, a blush rising to her cheeks under the weight of his eyes. His hand lightly rested on her stomach, like he was ready to pull away if she gave him the slightest hint that she didn’t want it there.

But she did.

She didn’t move away – and with a quiet breath, he started to stroke her side.

Her stomach fluttered in eager nerves as his hand started to draw light circles on her stomach, as the space between them seemed, all at once, impossibly far and exhilaratingly close, as he said, in awe, “You’re laughing again.”

He said it so simply, but it still took her breath away. She bit her lip and rested her hand on top of his, and then met his eyes once more. “I _feel_ better again.” It came out as whisper, so that he had to lean a little closer to hear her words.

 _Thanks to you, thanks to you_.

Fives, who had told her it would all be okay when she had expected death, who had steadfastly helped her and supported her and done nothing but make sure she was comfortable, who tried to answer her questions and make her feel as though everything would be alright even though he’d been living in pain, in solitude, for too long – Fives, who was now her entire world, smiled as though he heard her thoughts and his grip on her waist tightened.

Rabé was certain that he could hear her heartbeat. It was thrumming wildly against her ribs as he leaned closer, closer until she thought she might drown in the look in his eyes.

It was like time was holding its breath, waiting, just as eager as she.

Rabé saw the courage pooling in his eyes, felt it in his grip on her body, and she held her breath, too.

He didn’t wait another moment, and for that, Rabé was glad.

He leaned down and kissed her.

It was like he shot sparks through her blood, an electrical current that pulled her up – or perhaps pulled him down – together, together on the mat, the spar forgotten under the sweetness of his lips, his body, against hers. Her hand found its way up across his chest, around his neck, and he shivered under her fingers and kissed her harder until she could not remember how to breathe anymore.

She hummed in delight, and when he pulled away – only a little, she didn’t let him get too far – they laughed again. Breathless and bright-eyed and breathing hard, they stared at each other for a moment – Fives brought his hand to her jaw and caressed her face, pressed his forehead to hers, and then – like he was utterly, entirely unable to help himself – kissed her again, kissed her softly and magnificently until time slipped from them.

His lips tasted like heaven to her.

✧✧✧

Fives held her hand at breakfast the next morning, took it as casually as if they’d done it every morning of their lives, thought Rabé knew he’d been working up to it since they woke up. He took it under the warm morning sunshine of a single star, and though they were tousled and tired and tangled almost-naked together under a shared blanket, their bodies imprinted with the memories of each other’s’ lips and the hours of darkness not passed with rest but something altogether more wonderful, Rabé’s blush still pooled dark red on her cheeks, still made her trip over her own words until he laughed and she dropped her head onto his shoulder and laughed, too.

They couldn’t keep from touching each other. In wonderment or awe or excitement or lust – Rabé felt as if she’d been given a gift, whenever he touched her.

And the brilliant spark in his eyes told her he felt the same.

✧✧✧

Rabé knew that the fierce girl and sweet boy were their children. She liked saying their names; _Kida. Rohan._ A heavy gunner and a Jedi. A unit, a team. She could see how, together, they would have taken the stars by storm– _was it strange?_ To be proud of children she had never carried or held in her arms?

She didn’t think so. Kida had her competitiveness and devotion to protect her family, Rohan her stature, her gentleness. They both wore the marks of their parents, their heritage, quite literally on their sleeves: Kida wore her hair in an ancient warrior’s braid and carried her armor as proudly as her father, and Rohan, sweet Rohan, belted his blue-and-gray Jedi tunic with a scrap of burgundy and the symbol of Naboo.

Fives couldn’t watch the memories of not-their-children without crying.

Over a memory of Kida graduating from the Republic Academy and being welcomed into the 501st with open arms and cheering uncles, he’d sighed and wiped his eyes and said softly, “They mean that we _won._ That we won _everything_ – the war, that clones could retire and start families, that we could even _have_ children – they mean _victory._ ” His mouth pressed together in a thin line, and he’d pushed the memory away. “A victory that we failed to give them.”

 _Fierce little warriors_ , Rabé thought as she brushed her hand over the memory of a simple family scene, when the children were young. She’d started collecting her favorites, bringing them back to the suite, exploring what could have been. While real-Fives read on the couch across from her, memory-Fives was braiding four-year-old Kida’s hair, memory-Rabé and tiny two-year-old Rohan playing together on the floor of their home.

She knew the scene by heart. Memory-Fives would declare his work finished and then he and Kida would join memory-Rabé and Rohan on the floor. She’d compliment his work, Rohan would gesture to his own hair, asking if it was his turn, and then memory-Fives would grab them all in a strong-armed bear hug until they were all laughing. It filled her heart with warmth, so she let it play again, nestling deeper into her blankets. The suite was quiet, with muted memories floating above them.

Rohan looked up at her.

It changed. The memory had _changed._

Rabé’s heart dropped through her stomach as the son she’d never known looked up, looked directly into her eyes like he could _see_ her watching him – memory-Rabé paid no mind, she rearranged the toys while Rohan, small and sweet and pure, while Rohan’s bright amber eyes _like his father’s_ found Rabé and _saw her._

“Fives!”

He hardly had time to look up before she collapsed next to him, shoving the memory into his hands, hoping that it was just her mind playing tricks on her and that he would laugh and ask her what was the matter – but no, Rohan’s big amber eyes remained fixed on her, and then when Fives started to ask, Rohan’s eyes flicked over to him and Rabé felt Fives’ entire body go rigid with shock.

Memory-Rabé and memory-Fives continued on unaware, but Rohan – staring through the memory, staring through space and time and gods knew what else – looked up from where he played on the floor and saw them. He blinked, like he hadn’t expected to see Fives, and then his chubby little face split into the brightest, most beautiful smile Rabé had ever seen.

Fives’ grip on his datapad tightened until Rabé was certain he was going to snap it in two. Her head was swimming in thick confusion as Fives numbly asked, “No, he can’t – he sees us – _how?_ ”

Like he was answering his not-father’s question, Rohan started to laugh. Bright, delighted giggles bubbled out of him as he held up his stuffed shaak, his eyes never moving from theirs, and the bitter jealousy rose up in her head again, she wanted nothing more than to reach forward, to take the toy and play with him, with their darling son – Fives was shivering and leaning forward, desperation in his grip and eyes – and then Rohan seemed to realize that they couldn’t come play with him. That they were forever separated.

His face fell a little, his toy dropped to the floor, but his smile remained and grew brighter. And he waved at them, a clumsy, two-year-old wave and Rabé buried her face in her hands. She felt Fives shift next to her, felt the light breeze, and knew he was waving back.

She heard Rohan laugh again, fading now as the memory – _whose memory? –_ progressed on, and she started to cry. _Not fair, it’s not damn fair my sweet boy my sweet Rohan, damn the Force, damn the Force, damn the Force-_

Fives’ arm wrapped around her shoulders and tucked her close.

The memory hummed as he pushed it away. It rang in the heavy silence of their hearts.

✧✧✧

The next morning, after she returned the memories to their libraries, she curled up on top of Fives in their bed once more. He held her close and kissed her forehead, the sound of Rohan’s laughter still warm in their heads.

The silence was a little more bearable, when they could hear each other’s heartbeats. Her fingers traced his chest, his breath was warm on her skin, and she said, quietly, “We can’t get lost in the memories of our other selves.”

_Not anymore._

She couldn’t stop thinking about Rohan, their son that would never be, his laughter and bright smile. He’d changed the memory, changed it so that Rabé couldn’t – _didn’t_ – want to watch them anymore. It’d frightened her, to see her son’s eyes and know in her heart that he was seeing her as clear as day. _Damn the Force,_ she thought again. “We shouldn’t watch them anymore.”

Fives’ hands stalled in their absent-minded explorations of her body. He shifted under her, settled deeper into the blankets, and then murmured, “How do you mean?”

“They’re dangerous. They’re addictive.”

“They kept me sane.” His voice was quiet, mournful. “They were the only company I had…”

Rabé sat up and pressed her lips to his. “I know. I know…” She carded her fingers through his thick hair, traced his tattoo with her thumb. His eyes were guarded now, careful. The memories had given him hope, they’d saved his mind during the years he’d had to wait, alone, for her. She hated the thought of causing him pain, at making him cast off the thing that had given him comfort.

So she started again. “I think… I think if we’re not careful, we might end up _here_ , forever, watching different versions of ourselves while we, what? Get lost in memories that can never be? No. No. We can’t watch the memories anymore. They’re not ours,” and Rabé’s expression softened as she realized, as she understood, finally. She continued, whispering softly, “We have to make our _own._ ”

Fives was watching her carefully, but there was a dawning understanding in his eyes, too. She laced her fingers together, ignoring the sudden swarm of butterflies in her belly and the nervous quiver in her voice – _you’ve already kissed him, you’ve already slept together, you are literally tangled together in the bed you share, why are you nervous_ – as she asked, “Fives? Would you… would you like to go out on a date with me? Officially?”

He blinked, and then beamed at her. “I’d… I’d _really_ like that.”

✧✧✧

 “I’m sorry it took me so long to get here,” she said, and it was almost a joke. She was perched on the kitchen counter next to him, her feet kicking in midair to the beat of the music. It was unprompted, _damn the kitchen_ , but it was true.

Fives chuckled softly as he flipped through the datapad, his other hand resting easily on her thigh as he read through the recipe. “I’m just glad you’re here at all.”

She grinned and bumped his side with her leg, “Even if it took both of us dying to finally meet?”

He laughed again and met her eyes, kissing her quickly as he hummed, “Mhm.” He grabbed her waist, held her close to him as he pulled away from her lips and murmured, “We needed a push in the right direction, I guess.”

She giggled and he kissed her again before getting back to work on the food for their date.

Rabé knew they were doing it all out of order – but if she’d learned anything from the memories, from the dozens of timelines, all it meant was that they were right where they were supposed to be.

✧✧✧

She had to hand it to the Force, or the gods, or whoever had made this beautiful afterlife for them:

They knew what they were doing.

In her time as a royal handmaiden, Rabé had worn any number of regal gowns. Though she had rarely been called to act as the decoy – a position only honored Captains, _like Sabé and Cordé,_ could fulfill – she had convinced Padmé once to let her wear the heavy coronation gown and headdress. Rabé had never been meant for the monarchy, she knew this; not to mention her personal style was more _revealing_ than traditional Naboo costumes.

Whoever had made this afterlife for them, they knew _exactly_ what they were doing.

She’d opened the closet and found a dress the color of Naboo’s oceans, embroidered with dozens of bright yellow flowers, airy and light and that fit her perfectly. It was only when she stepped out of the room and Fives’ eyes widened, his cheeks flush with delight, did she realize the color of Naboo’s oceans perfectly matched the color of the armor he had once worn. His suit was sharp and tailored, and a beautiful dark grey that made him look like a powerful, rolling thunderstorm.

He held his arm out to her shyly, and she took it with an eager, excited breath. They walked down the halls together, through the gardens to the dock where a boat was waiting for them. In the distance, the island – “unreachable,” Fives had said, on her thirteenth-maybe-fifteenth day – shimmered like a mirage. Rabé hoped it wasn’t; and she knew Fives was desperate to explore it, to find something new.

She wanted to experience it with him, so she prayed as he helped down into the boat, prayed as he began to row, prayed as the island got a little closer with every stroke: she prayed that the Force would let them pass.

Fives tensed as he reached the limit – marked by a cluster of cattails reaching towards the early morning sky – and slowed automatically, like he was waiting for the push of the Force. He laughed nervously and said, turning to stare at it, “I haven’t tried to reach it in so long.”

Over his shoulder, the island, covered with thick plants and ancient stonework overgrown with greenery, sat pleasantly on the horizon. Rabé knew that for years, it had taunted him. Had enticed him countless times to try and reach its borders – but it had always pushed him away. The basket of food tucked between her legs was warm and she so desperately wanted for them to enjoy it on the island.

Fives turned back around, his eyes downcast at the old-fashioned oars in his hands. Waves rocked the boat for a moment, and then Rabé reached forward and placed her hand on his. His eyes rose to meet hers and he nodded, flashing her a brief smile of thanks.

When he took the oars again, the boat cut smoothly through the waves, and Rabé watched his face, just as he was watching hers, to gauge her reaction.

It was getting closer. The island was getting closer.

The Force was letting them pass through.

Fives saw the shift in her expression and in his eyes dawned radiant hope – he sat up a little straighter, started rowing a little faster – and when Rabé couldn’t stop the smile from bursting across her face Fives looked as though he might cry out of pure happiness. The boat scraped up against the sandbars and he whirled around so fast that the boat rocked. Rabé laughed as he let out a triumphant whoop and vaulted over the side of the boat, pushing it farther up onto the shore, eyes shining and eager and brilliant, incandescently happy, his head swiveling from side to side, trying to take it all in, his wild smile punctuated with blissful, disbelieving laughter.

She hardly had time to stand and grab the basket before he had grabbed her by the waist and lifted her with ease onto the sandy shore, nearly vibrating in his excitement, talking so fast that she almost couldn’t understand him: “I can’t believe it, I _can’t believe it,_ it’s been here this _whole_ time and I never thought… I thought it was just like the city! I thought it was just gonna taunt me forever, just exist _this_ close out of my reach – I thought it was a mirage but it turns out I just had to…”

Rabé, her fingers trailing in the water, glanced up when his words suddenly faltered. Fives was staring at her in a way that was becoming oh-so-familiar: intense, passionate, fawning adoration. The clear blue waters lapped at their legs as she blushed and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, “You just had to what?”

Fives smiled. “Wait for you.”

Her blush deepened and she looked away, but still accepted his hand – they were purposefully more reserved with each other, now that they were officially going on a date (in the afterlife, which never failed to amuse her) – when he offered it. They almost didn’t know how to act around each other, with each other. He was formal and chivalrous, a true gentleman. Never mind the fact that she had woken up naked next to him that morning, their legs tangled together, or that her neck was covered in dark bruises from his lips: the gentle grip of his calloused palm on her hand, his strong fingers intertwined with hers, still made her stomach twist into knots.

They stood on the beach of the island together, Rabé watching Fives out of the corner of her eye. She wanted nothing more than to see him _this_ happy, _this_ joyful and eager and excited, for the rest of their days… _whatever that means, when I say it here._

A well-maintained trail curved into the lush forest, wide enough for them to walk side-by-side. Sunlight streamed down through the thick canopy of leaves and flowers as they followed the gently winding path towards – finally – an unknown destination. Fives couldn’t stop himself from talking, and Rabé couldn’t stop watching him as he chattered on excitedly about whatever crossed his mind. He was so happy, he was brilliantly happy – and that made her happy, too.

Eventually the dirt under their feet gave way to neatly cut cobblestones, and the thick pines gave way to the ruins of an ancient stone building. Thick green vines climbed over toppled stone walls, cracked statues held their stars and suns up to the bright blue sky. The roof had long since caved in, but beautifully carved stone walls, dotted with murals and mosaics and arched windows, looked as if they were holding up the sky itself.

Fives and Rabé glanced at each other and stepped over the threshold of the building together, into the cool shadows soft with grasses and moss. A giant stone sat in a puddle of sunlight streaming in through a large window, and Rabé wondered for a moment who the altar was meant for, who had walked these room and halls long ago, who had worshipped here. The wind hummed as it flowed through the ruins, and she couldn’t help but shiver. An ancient energy, full of hope, resided here. She could feel it in her bones as she angled her face towards the sunlight and closed her eyes.

“Oh, _man,_ look at this!” Fives called out to her, gesturing to something on the stone wall in front of him. “Look at this guy!”

A fat lizard, dark purple with bright neon green chevron stripes, watched them carefully with four massive eyes, all blinking at different times and swiveling around as Fives got closer, entranced. Rabé set the picnic basket down on the stone and took a step closer, curious but hesitant.

Fives squatted in front of the lizard and held out his hand, clicking his tongue and babbling “Come on, lil’ dude, come over here… I’m not gonna hurt you, promise-”

Rabé pressed her hand to her mouth, trying not to laugh and startle the lizard. It blinked up at here with its four massive eyes – and then a tongue lashed out and landed with a splat on one of its eyes. She couldn’t help but laugh then, and the fat lizard waddled a little closer to Fives’ outstretched hands.

Fives looked up at her, looked up at the sound of her soft giggles, and winked. “I’m gonna get him, just watch,” determined and joking and wonderful and Rabé realized with a thunderous _CLAP_ of her heart that she might just very well be-

“No, _this_ way, there’s no food over _there_ , I have a snack for you right here but you gotta come closer-”

_more_

“Ha, yeah, that’s it!”

_than a little_

“Huh, wow, he kind of looks like General Koon. When you get up close and stuff.”

_in love_

“But a good way! A good way, little guy. A handsome lizard type of way.”

_with him._

✧✧✧

It happened as they were rowing back towards their palace.

Three moons had risen in place of the one sun. Rabé, warm under his jacket, happily dozing with the rhythm of the waves and Fives’ soft grunts of effort, gazed contentedly across the water. Her fingers left trails in the lake, the reflections of the three moons shivering under the touch of her fingers.

It took her a moment to notice that some of the lights were not from the moons at all.

When she glanced up at the sky in confusion, Fives began to ask her what she’d seen – but then the look on her face must have stopped him. She sat up straighter and stared past him, and when he turned, the only sound she heard was his quiet, mournful: “… _Ah_.”

The light – dozens, no, _hundreds_ of golden lights like lanterns – were pouring out from the palace, blooming and bursting forth from the windows and doors like a flock of ancient birds woven from sunlight.

The memories.

The memories were rising away.

The palace, the gardens, the lake – everything slowly became awash with the golden light as the memories rose from their libraries, pulled toward the sky by invisible hands. They floated over the surface of the water, skimming so close that Rabé could see flashes of the memories she had come to love – and then come to be frightened of.

Fives was silhouetted against the light, his face upturned as the memories he’d so carefully collected, the memories that had kept him sane as he was forced to wait for her, slipped from his grasp. He rose a hand as one bounced close by – tiny Kida, coming to play with her dozing parents on the beach – his fingers skimmed the strange half-liquid surface and Kida’s joyful laughter echoed as it was pulled away from him. Forever. His lip trembled, and his fingers stretched out – and then slowly, his hand fell to his lap in defeated acceptance.

Rabé’s eyes stung with tears, and – moving carefully, stepping lightly – she slipped next to him, grabbed his hands until he turned to look at her. Simply look. She had no words to help him now, no quiet ministrations that would ease the pain of having the memories taken from them in one last spectacular, dazzling show of light and love.

The memories returned to the strange eternity above and around them, melting back into starlight, and Rabé held Fives until only the light of the moons remained.

✧✧✧

Without the memories, the ceiling of the Great Hall seemed as dense and dark as the eternity of space beyond the walls. Fives had not said a word as they’d returned to a darkened palace, his feet taking them automatically to the place where he’d kept the grandest storyline, the one that tasted only of victory.

He stood in the middle of the room, staring up at the empty ceiling, and then turned back to Rabé as she slowly followed him in. Careful. Cautious. And then he smiled, smiled at her through his unshed tears, and said simply:

“I learned how to dance, you know.”

For some reason, his easy acceptance of his loss broke her heart. He went on, running an embarrassed hand through his hair, “Thought it’d be impressive.”

He stepped closer, took her hands in his own – rubbing the back of her hands with his thumbs – and for a wild moment Rabé silently begged that he would bring them to his lips, that he would kiss her knuckles. From the way his lips moved, perhaps he was thinking the same.

Instead, she laughed – a little breathlessly, when she caught the look in his eyes – and murmured, “May I have this dance, Fives?”

He inclined his head, a tiny smile on his lips – and then his hand hovered against the small of her back and pulled her close as they settled against each other. And then they began to dance, to slowly waltz around the empty ballroom, their eyes only for each other.

She thought she could feel the ghost of the memories, but then Fives smiled at her and the feeling vanished. She was here with him, and that was all she could ever want.

“Y’know, I think Rex would have really liked to meet you. And… and Echo, too.” His fingers flexed against the bare skin of her back and Rabé shivered a little at the pressure, as he stroked the small of her back. Tiny circles, tiny circles and touches that stole her breath away. Fives smiled, took a breath, and pulled her so close that there was no space between them. “I think that Torrent would have really liked you.”

“I wish I could have met them.”

He was warm against the chill of the not-Alderaanian night. Rabé knew they were both officially dead – but she could feel his warmth and almost his heart as it beat close to hers. And though she was not a Jedi, though she could never have felt the presence of the Force the way Obi-Wan had once described it to her, she wondered if the Force was stronger here. Everything shone brighter, every touch lingered and sent shivers down her spine.

Their steps echoed in the dimming light of the remaining memories, keeping time to a song that only they could hear.

His eyes were a beautiful shade of light brown, like liquid gold. Rabé couldn’t – _didn’t want to_ – look away. She knew everything about him. Everything. Rishi; his lost brothers _so many lost brothers_ ; the Citadel, Echo, Umbara, Tup and Fox and a dimly lit warehouse in the lower levels of Coruscant. She knew everything about him; he knew everything about her. The palace had once seemed so vast and cold and frightening, but now when she thought of the halls, she thought of the greenhouse. The sunlight streaming through their windows, the warm tangled sheets, the sparring mat – every place where she had been anointed with his kisses, his touches. And she’d done the same for him.

She knew what she wanted to say, and it felt so natural. She knew that, once she said it, everything would change. She could almost _feel_ the Force humming in the air around them. “Fives?”

“Mhm.”

“I love you.”

Amazing how three simple words could make a highly-trained ARC trooper forget how to speak.

Fives opened his mouth to reply, eyes wide and a smile flickering over his lips, but she’d literally rendered him speechless. So he leaned forward instead, kissed her deeply, and only then was he able to whisper it back to her, again and again and again, as her eyes closed and his breath danced across her skin: “I love you, too.”

She wished that the Force would bubble this memory, too.

Fives grinned and sighed happily, “I must be dreaming.”

“Mm, I don’t think you are.”

He laughed and tucked her closer – now they were simply swaying instead of dancing – and Rabé rested her head on his broad chest, felt his fluttering heartbeat. She liked that they could still make each other act like this; that she could rest against him and make him forget how to speak.

For a moment, they danced in silence. And then Rabé said, “Where do you think they went? The memories?”

Fives considered her words, and laughed a little as he replied, “I don’t know. The Force? … _Is_ there a place for ‘the Force,’ even? Ugh. Still wish we had a kriffin’ Jedi to ask.”

She laughed, too.

“Y’know, I hadn’t expected… any of this.” He cleared his throat and went on, in a quiet rush, “I mean beyond the afterlife and the memories and shit. I… when you came here, when you woke up here, the first thing I did was tell myself not to expect anything. That just because you were in those memories, it didn’t mean anything. Just because I saw the two of us, together-”

“-In more ways than one.”

He snorted. “Right. Just because the memories showed that, didn’t mean that we would come together, too. For all I knew, maybe this place was for the rest of Torrent, and the handmaidens, and you were just the second to arrive. It didn’t mean that we would… that we would fall in love.”

She pulled away, thinking back to that first awful moment, body rigid with pain and confusion. Fives met her eyes and said, softly, “I honestly didn’t know if I would be so lucky. That you would love me, that I would be able to love you, too. But you know me. _You_ love _me._ ”

Rabé smiled and cupped his face in her hands. “Of course, I do.” She pulled his face closer to hers and tapped the ink at his temple with her finger. “You’re _Fives_.”

_My Fives._

_The Force made us this world._

And for a moment, she could almost hear it.

His face split into the widest, loveliest smile Rabé had ever seen, and his laugh made the butterflies in her belly swarm. He met her eyes and reached up a hand to softly stroke her cheek, to brush her hair behind her ear, and he did so with the utmost concentration and gentleness that Rabé couldn’t help herself. She bit her lip and then rose on her toes, pressing her lips to his and wrapping her arms around his neck, closing her eyes as he kissed her back, gentle and hesitant but then fierce and desperate and joyful all at once, as something brilliant and white-hot overtook first the ghost city and then the lake and gardens and finally engulfed them, but Rabé was not afraid, no – it was joyful, not something to be afraid of – she held him tighter,

kissed him harder,

and

_everything_

burned.


End file.
